


Hang a Shining Star

by Semperfidani



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Ben, Barista Rey, Christmas Fluff, Devoted Reylo, F/M, Family legacy, Forgiveness, Hang a shining star upon the highest bough, Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, Healing, If The Fates Allow, Let your heart be light, Other, Reference to Alzheimer's Disease, Reference to death of characters, SW Advent 2019, family ties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Semperfidani/pseuds/Semperfidani
Summary: Ben comes home to deal with a family legacy, and gains more than he expects. A Christmas coffee shop AU story for the Star Wars Advent 2019 project.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 40
Kudos: 119





	Hang a Shining Star

_Have yourself a merry little Christmas._

_Let your heart be light._

_From now on our troubles will be out of sight._

_Through the years, we all will be together._

_If the fates allow._ _  
_

_Hang a shining star upon the highest bough._

_And have yourself a merry little Christmas now._

[  
**_~Lauren Daigle, Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas_ ** ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pvte8wIxVdc)

* * *

**December 1**

The fragrant smell of cinnamon, orange, cloves, and memories wafted across the coffee shop as Ben stepped inside Café Skywalker, his first steps in many years. He adjusted the collar on his long, black, double-breasted wool blend pea coat, dusting the light sprinkling of snow off his broad shoulders. 

The gentle stirrings of a pleasant jazz version of a popular Christmas tune greeted his ears. The familiar creak of the brown hardwood floors his father had insisted installing on his own — _because why spend money on a crook when I can do the job_ — was simultaneously comforting to hear, and a painful reminder of all that was lost. His golden brown eyes adjusted to the softer lights set against the brick wall, stained grey to accent the color of the floors. _At least the decorations changed_ , he thought to himself. Gone were the tacky generic landscape paintings that were favored by his uncle. Instead, fresh pieces of art, commissioned by local artists, were scattered across the walls with small placards with the names, price tag, and contact information listed for potential buyers listed below in elegant script. 

A chalkboard was perched on a wooden pedestal, the daily specials written in pretty cursive writing and accented with a border of holly and ivy in colorful green and red chalk. The feature coffee was an eggnog latte with a sprinkle of nutmeg, and the feature tea was a Holiday London Fog, topped with a crystallized blood orange. The soup of the day was advertised as a “hearty” homemade minestrone, and the quiche was a mushroom, asparagus and cherry tomato blend. The dessert, a homemade cinnamon bun with cream cheese topping, was the iconic dessert Café Skywalker was most known for. Ben would know, as he watched his mother make them as a child, a recipe passed on from her mother. Above the counter was a list of the regular features, including an assortment of coffee and dessert offerings. Although the list of offerings expanded since he was a child, the style of the shop remained more or less the same as it had the last four decades. 

Ben shook his head, as if purposely banishing the trip down memory lane from his mind. He was here on a mission, and a rather inconvenient one at that. His meddlesome pain-in-the-ass uncle was a pain-in-the-ass right up to, and including death. The simple thing to do when one knows they are dying is to make a straight-forward will. Instead, Ben was was left with a riddle and a mystery to solve, his entire family legacy contingent on a goose-chase set-up by a lunatic uncle.

_Fucking asshole._

He should have spent this week tying up loose ends, settling an estate, visiting his mother at the home, and flying out for a much needed break to some private villa in the Florida Keys after a grueling year of painting and promotional tours. Instead, he was scrambling to figure out where said lunatic uncle hid his will. He thought about the words as he stood in line. 

_Ben._

_I’m sorry I let you down, and in doing so, robbed you of all those years with your mother when her mind was still sharp. A wise old man once told me that the greatest teacher is failure. I would be remiss if I didn’t try to make it up to you._

_It would be easy to just hand you your legacy, and the burdens that come with it, and simply walk away. If I know you, you’ll sell everything and leave it — and the weight of the shadow you have lived under — behind._

_Before you do that, I think it’s important to understand what truly is at the heart of our family. Here’s a hint: it’s not power or money. To help you find the answer, I’m sending you on a final journey, and one I should have better demonstrated to you when you were younger._

_To find the will, you will need to find the answer to this question: what does it truly mean to be a Skywalker?_

**_Here is your first clue:_ **

> _Spices and sweets are delicious to eat. You’ll find the void in the grey._
> 
> _Head on down to this place, and let a rey of sunshine guide the way._

_See ya around, kid._

_Uncle Luke._

Ben stood impatiently behind a young hipster girl with a grey beanie, UGG boots, and basically every other stereotypical white girl starter-kit item of clothing, as she spent an insane amount of time ordering the most complicated coffee order in the history of humanity. “Can I have a half-skinny, half-almond milk, pumpkin spice latte with 2 extra pumps, extra hot, half-foam…”

_It’s just fucking coffee for shits sake! How fucking hard is it to order a damn coffee?_

As hipster girl stood there hemming and hawing over what type of cake popsicle to order, Ben’s eyes strayed around the shop. _You’ll find the void in the grey…_ His eyes settled on a selection of artwork adjacent to the counter. He caught his breath, his heartbeat picking up at a rapid pace as recognition settled deep into his soul. 

“Beautiful, aren’t they?”

Ben startled and swirled toward the voice that was tinged with a slight British accent. His golden brown eyes connected with her hazel green ones. She was slightly smaller than he was, as most people were, but she was above average in height. Her brunette hair was tied up in a weird trilogy of buns, and a scattering of freckles dotted her face, as if she was perpetually kissed by the sun. His eyes flicked briefly to her name tag. _Rey...how apt._

She looked at him expectantly, and his mind caught up with him. “Yes. They are...alright.” 

“Oh, but they are brilliant, really. My absolute favourite pieces,” her eyes lit up, and her voice spoke with a considerable amount of passion. “Can you believe I found those in the trash? Luke was going to throw them out, but I jumped into the dumpster and salvaged them.” Her eyes shone brightly, as if she was proud of herself. “I’m good at salvaging unwanted pieces and giving them a new purpose.” 

His eyes strayed to the paintings, the series positioned in a circle on the wall, and a familiar wave of emotion tugged at his heart. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. The saliva felt like a rock trickling down his throat, and he was almost overcome with emotion.

_They were unwanted by his own family...but not by her._

“I don’t know who KR is, and Luke was quite mum about it,” Rey babbled on. “He’s a man of mystery, but I want to find him so that I can commission another piece. That’s why I’ve got a space in the middle. I feel like the story is not complete, and the lady and little boy in the picture deserve a happy ending, I think.” She looked at him expectantly. “Well look at me rambling on. Finn says I talk too much. But I’d like to think my friendliness is what makes my coffee shop stand out.”

He stared at her blankly, his mind catching up with the whirlwind of words. She was both breathtaking and refreshing. She was certainly _not_ the cool and aloof women he usually dated and once preferred, another technique he used to detach himself from his emotions. His agent, Richard Snoke, certainly preferred Ben demonstrate a singular dedication to his craft, insisting that there was no time for distractions and diversions like family.

_Family equated pain and failure._

She continued to look at him, her nose scrunching up in humor. “Well I doubt you came to listen to a barista chew your ears off. What can I get you? I recommend something from the specials board. They are my own recipes...well, except for the cinnamon bun which is Café Skywalker legacy recipe...but I guarantee you 100% satisfaction, or I will replace it with something else.”

Where as Ben would normally order just straight black coffee, or an Americano if he was feeling particularly indulgent, he couldn’t help but nod his head, as if pleasing her was his only mission. “Sure, I’ll have a...uhhh...the Holiday Fog thing...and a...piece of quiche,” he paused, watching as she entered the order into the till, her slight and delicate fingers speedily racing across the board. “And a cinnamon bun too. To go. Please.” He winced at his boyish ramblings, embarrassed at his sudden inability to speak.

She smiled at him with a force that almost made him stumble back a bit. “That will be $14.75 including tax.” He handed her a crisp twenty and mumbled to keep the change. His eyes wandered to the paintings again while she tended to his order. 

The first painting, situated at the bottom, was a watercolor image of a young, petite, faceless woman who wore a white dress, her hair styled in a distinct style that was wrapped around her ears like cinnamon buns, standing next to a tall faceless man in an Air Force uniform. She was holding a baby with a tuft of dark hair while they both stood in front of a brownstone home, an assortment of flowers in a pot on the bottom step. In the next painting, there was a young faceless boy handing the same woman some flowers clearly pulled from the same pot. She was bent over to receive them in the same style of dress and hair. Above the brownstone, the same Air Force pilot was seated in a plane overhead, and the little boy’s other hand was extended in a wave.

In the third set of paintings, a teenage boy stood in front of the brownstone holding flowers towards his mother, this time dressed in a black dress, while she was slumped over in apparent mourning as the Air Force pilot was nowhere to be seen, and the flower pot empty. In the fourth and final picture, the woman stood alone, her head bowed, the buns removed as her hair hung limply, the flowers in her hand wilted. The boy was nowhere to be seen, and the brownstone home was painted in deliberately blurry lines, with the flower pot cracked open, the dirt spilling onto the steps.

And in the center of the paintings, there was a void, only the grey bricks of the wall visible, as if waiting for another story.

“I really hope that I can find the artist,” Rey said at his side, causing him to jump a bit. “I know what it’s like to be alone.”

Ben looked at her imploringly, as if trying to get to know the real her. “Anyways, here is your order,” she said, handing him a small paper bag and the tea, the crystallized orange shining under the overhead light. She paused, a slight blush tinting her cheeks as she peered up at him. “I hope to see you again soon.”

“I promise, you will see much more of me,” he blurted out before he could stop himself. Ben could feel the tips of his ears burning and was thankful for his longish-hair that fell to his shoulders. He left before he could embarrass himself further, missing the way she gazed longingly after him. Once outside, he walked half a block before he paused to sit at a bench, sipping on the admittedly good latte while brushing his hand through his hair, the cold crisp air whirling around his face. 

He thought about the first part of the clue, and it seemed obvious what Luke was asking him to do. The part he didn’t understand was what the girl had to do with this? She had no place in their family story, from what he could gather. Obviously, she must be holding down the fort during the transition — before he could take his rightful ownership of the café and shut it down for good. 

He ignored the feeling of guilt at the thought of bringing her unhappiness, tossed his uneaten contents into the garbage, and strode off. 

* * *

**December 24**

_  
_ “Don’t look now, but painter dude has been staring at you for a solid five minutes,” Finn whispered in her ear as she was wrapping up the rest of the unsold goods onto a tray for Finn to take to the local shelter.  
  
Rey lifted her head and met Ben’s gaze straight on, his head peeking out from the side of the easel he had propped in his dining corner. He was handsome in an unconventional manner, his longish face peppered with moles, his nose on the large side, his lips plump, and his ears larger than normal. But the whole was sexier than the sum of its parts, and she crushed harder than she ever had before. She quickly dropped her head, and forcefully arranged the cinnamon buns on the tray.  
  
“Hey, easy on the goods,” Finn, her colleague and closest friend said, grabbing the tray from her before closing the lid. He grabbed her into an embrace. “Are you going to be okay for the next hour?”

She hugged Finn back, assuring him that she was going to be fine. At this time of the evening, most people in New York were with their friends or loved ones, celebrating Christmas. Finn was about to head out to the Bronx for dinner at the Dameron’s, before he and his boyfriend Poe flew out for a much needed vacation in the Caribbean.

“Merry Christmas Peanut,” he said, grabbing her into another hug before bending to whisper in her ear. “Go to him and confess your feelings. If you can’t be honest at Christmas, when can you be?” He let her go with a wink, grabbed the tray and left, leaving her with just herself and Ben.

Over the last month, Ben stopped by every day, canvas and easel in hand, and ordered whatever the daily specials were without complaint. He situated himself at the table across from the brownstone paintings, as if drawing on them for inspiration. Rey had no idea the the tall, hot, brooding man who came into her store a month ago was an artist. Café Skywalker prided itself on being open to artists. Every day, the coffee shop was full of budding artists, some whose art was featured on their wall. When Ben walked in, she just assumed he was a corporate man based on his style of dress, much more expensive than the hobo-style of the artists that usually frequented the cafe.  
  
Slowly and surely, they became friendlier with each other. He offered his name, she offered him samples of latte combinations she was experimenting with, and he returned with honest criticism and suggestions, as if it was second nature. 

Sometimes late in the evening, when there was only an hour to go and he was the only patron, she would sit with him and they would share their life story back and forth. She told him about her awful childhood in an orphanage and foster-care system. He told her about how we was an orphan too, his father having died in the Gulf War, and having slowly lost his mother to Alzheimer's Disease. She shared her dreams of buying the café from whoever the next owner was, and he expressed his secret desire to break away from the corporate art world, and his domineering agent, to become a freelance artist again. 

She told him about how she was discovered dumpster diving for food by Luke, who offered her a job. He told her how he had an uncle that all but gave up on him as an artist, kicking him out of the family home that he was a trustee of, all because he wouldn’t take over the family business. 

Everyday, she felt just a little bit closer to him. She hoped the feeling wasn’t one-sided. 

Once again, the coffee shop was empty except for him. He was putting his painting kit away, having seemingly finished his work. Summoning up her courage, she reached down to him with a little gift, wrapped in pretty red paper and tied with a gold bow.  
  
“Merry Christmas, Ben,” she said, sliding him the gift.  
  
He seemed shocked that someone would think to give him a gift. “I...I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything. Just open it!” Rey replied, a tiny blush sprinkling across her smiling cheeks.  
  
He swiftly opened the gift, tossing the paper aside. He lifted the art book, a collection of paintings by well-known artists, and smiled. “Thank you, Rey. This is really thoughtful...and unexpected.”

 _A lot of things with you have been unexpected_.

He was overcome with emotion and nerves. Over the last month, his feelings about Rey grew from a nagging curiosity to something he hadn’t felt since he was young and his mother was lucid — the feeling of love. 

He was unsure of how she was going to take the news she was about to share. He kicked himself for not being honest from the get-go. He hoped his art would speak where his words could not. 

“I have a gift for you too. But I need to be honest with you first. I’m…” he paused, staring deeply into her concerned eyes before looking away. “I’m not just a random stranger to this place. My full name is Ben Organa-Skywalker-Solo, and Luke was my uncle. I’m, in theory, the owner of the bar. If I can find his will.” 

Rey stared in shock, her jaw opening and closing, the implications of what he said flashing before her eyes, and she made to leave. He reached out to grab her hand, almost as if in desperation, and stroked it gently with his thumb, and she stilled in her seat. He dropped it to pull the riddle from his pocket and read it out loud to her.

“Why did you lie to me? Why couldn’t you be upfront? I could have helped search with you, Ben.”  
  
“I didn’t mean to deceive you, Rey. Luke implied that the will could be found here, and that was my initial motivation. But what I actually think he was making me do was to search for something more meaningful.” He looked up to her, his eyes bright with passion and _something else._

“I think...no...I know I found the answer to his question of what it truly means to be a Skywalker. It’s the same thing as what it truly means to be an Organa. And what it truly means to be a Solo. It’s love, Rey,” he said, starting at her with a deep look of longing. “I know it’s soon. I know we still don’t really know each other as well as we should. But I fell for you that first day, and my love for you has only intensified as I’ve come to understand you, your fears, your vulnerabilities, your generous heart, and your amazing capacity to see the quality in everything you encounter – even with the most broken like me. I love you.” 

He stood, holding out his hand towards her. She stared at him for a second, watching as uncertainty and fear crossed his face, a tiny twitch of his eyebrows as a signal of his nerves. She slowly rose in her chair, and reached for his hand as an equal.  
  
“I love you too, Ben. I think I’ve always known from the first moment that you were something special. I felt a connection to you that I’ve never felt with another.”

He let out a sigh of relief and pulled her into his embrace, his lips meeting hers in a gentle and tender kiss. He broke apart with a smile and she smiled at him, a sparkle and joy radiating like an energy of light from her soul.

“When we find the will, no matter what it says or what happens to us, Café Skywalker is yours. But I’ve got something for you. It’s my last secret, but I promise you it’s a good one.”

She eyed him, a touch of concern as he reached for the canvas. Turning it around, she gasped at the brilliant watercolor painting. It was a picture of a faceless, tall, dark-haired man in a black shirt and pants, standing in front of a brownstone. Next to him was a slightly smaller but faceless girl with a yellow sundress and three familiar buns, holding his hand. Sitting in a wheel-chair was a faceless older lady with grey hair but two familiar buns wrapped around her ear. Next to her chair was the flower-pot with fresh flowers, the vase repaired, the cracks clearly visible. 

“You’re KR,” she said simply as a matter-of-fact, tears streaming down her face. She felt a belonging she had never felt before.

“I was. KR, or Kylo Ren, is my professional name. I made those paintings as a gift for my mother to help her remember, or at least as much as she could,” Ben pulled a face, remorse etched in the lines of his face. “But clearly, they never made it to her. In any event, I’ve signed this one by my actual name. I’m leaving my old world behind, and maybe, with you, we can start fresh.”

Rey said nothing in return, but silently reached for the photo. She went to put it on the hook drilled into the brick in the centre of the other photos, when her eye caught something hidden in the cracks. She wiggled on the brick a bit, and a white piece of paper fell out. “Ben, you need to come see this.”

He strode over in concern until his eyes narrowed on the piece of paper on the floor. He reached for it, opening the paper.

  
_Dear Ben,_

_Congratulations on solving my riddle. I suspect that you gained more than you have lost, if I played my cards right. You Solo boys are nothing if not predictable with your tastes and your awkwardness. I helped your father, and I helped you. Consider this my apology gesture._

_The will can be found in the safe at Leia’s suite in the home. The password is 4673, which is the numeric value for the word HOPE._

_Go visit your mother, Ben. Even in her darkest day, when it appears all is lost, there is always hope._

_And take care of Rey. She’s been through so much. I know she will bring unconditional love and light to your life. Bring unconditional love and care to hers._

_Just remember, we’ll always be with you,_

_Love,_

_Uncle Luke._

Rey held him as they wiped away tears from their faces.

“Rey,” Ben said, steadying himself. “Do you have plans for Christmas?”

“Up until today, my only plans were a movie-fest, binging on ice cream and take-out.”

“Do you want to join me for Christmas and come meet my mother? I don’t know what she will be like or anything…”

She cut him off with a kiss. “I’d be happy to. And maybe we can deliver the pictures to her. They deserve a home with your mother so that she knows she is loved and cherished.”

He bent down to kiss her with relief and joy. 

“Merry Christmas, Rey!”

“Merry Christmas, Ben!” 

A few minutes later, with the paintings safety stored in a carry parcel, she clicked off the lights and shut the door. Together, they walked towards the future, snow falling gently around them. 

Somewhere in the sky, two shining stars, a scoundrel and a hermit, were twinkling with joy.   
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this little story! 
> 
> Happy Holidays/Merry Christmas!  
> xoxo Dani (a.k.a. @Semperfidani)


End file.
